Tuesday, January 20, 2015

AMEN CADENCE

If you only 
but knew! how—profound 

and authentic-
ally I hear you—a sorry lame 
pack

of dull insolent pitches—
claptrapping
down 

past that 
rattling heat machine
thing in the hall—and then

confounding up
some rickety laminate
zigzag of ground

every morning—hounding

like you do—for brown water
and wet food
and a little light 

banter—by the clickclacking
faucets

latches
and switches—presumably concerning 

wherever 
the selfsame noisy 
hell in the world it is you're going—

without ever even 
so much 
as offering—to take your good old dog.

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